// dance me through the panic 'til i'm gathered safely in
lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove //
lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove //
She should absolutely know better than to assume he can hold a poker face when she looks the way she does, planting herself between his legs, pressing her hands into his hips. So he leans back, aiming to at least try before the smirk breaks across his face at the cool air he feels, at the hitch of a breath that he swallows down like it’s nothing. “I’m going to need quite a bit of practice.” He informs her, watching her as she braces against him and pins his legs down. His hand tightens in her hair, breathing in a sharp breath at the trail her tongue takes, at the view of her body poised before him as if she’s particularly pleased with herself.
And gods does he actually try, but it’s torturous as he swallows hard and their eyes meet, as she takes his cock into her lips and taunts him with that devilish, stroking tongue that has his jaw clenching, an attempt at a quiet sigh to leave him, his gaze alight in swirling silver as he tries to regain some semblance of control. His fingers tighten in her hair, her own hands occupied by keeping his hips down, but that only means he’s free to tug at her hair, to challenge her a fraction back as she focuses her attention on his hard, eager length. His free hand runs along her arm that leads to his hip, blunt nails dragging along it, wondering if she’d abandon the hold she has with pinning his hips to push back against the hand in her hair. Still, the feel of her lips around him, the warmth she offers is distracting in more ways than one, and try as hard as he can, he already knows he’s doomed to fail.
And gods does he actually try, but it’s torturous as he swallows hard and their eyes meet, as she takes his cock into her lips and taunts him with that devilish, stroking tongue that has his jaw clenching, an attempt at a quiet sigh to leave him, his gaze alight in swirling silver as he tries to regain some semblance of control. His fingers tighten in her hair, her own hands occupied by keeping his hips down, but that only means he’s free to tug at her hair, to challenge her a fraction back as she focuses her attention on his hard, eager length. His free hand runs along her arm that leads to his hip, blunt nails dragging along it, wondering if she’d abandon the hold she has with pinning his hips to push back against the hand in her hair. Still, the feel of her lips around him, the warmth she offers is distracting in more ways than one, and try as hard as he can, he already knows he’s doomed to fail.
dance me to the end of love
SUNJATA
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
